Spoilers for the Imperial Agent Act 2. Also, as with all the Counseling run, Ruth Means Compassion, all of it.

Spoiler

"Gentlemen, have a seat," said Doctor Dysagape. "Now, then. Before we start, were there any questions you two had for me or each other?"

Quinn cleared his throat. "I had a question, actually. I wanted to ask Rylon whether...whether he's all right. After the Emperor's mind control, after what happened with the Voice and again in the Emperor's fortress."

"Uh, Dad? You could've just asked me on the way over."

"As a precaution I prefer to ask in a milieu that will suppress combat efforts."

"What, like Doctor Short'n'round here could stop me?"

"That wasn't the point," Quinn said hastily. "I just...I worry. You must have suffered a great deal."

Rylon shrugged. "It was kinda freaky, but I'll live. The mind control was weird, but I talked it over with Wynston a lot, he really helped put it in perspective."

"You talked it over with…Wynston?"

"Yeah. He's had some experience in the area."

"And you couldn't bring it up with me?"

"'Hey Dad, let's talk about those times I tried to kill Mom' didn't seem like the greatest idea."

"Perhaps not, but you might try something less inviting of disaster than confiding in Agent Wynston."

"General, you seem to be afraid of Wynston receiving the attention and trust of your loved ones," observed Dysagape.

"Afraid? No. Infuriated? Yes."

"I get the impression that this is a longstanding grudge. Do you feel that this Wynston has wronged you before?"

"He slept with my wife before I got involved with her and now he's stealing my son's trus-"

"Wynston slept with Mom? Dad, the only person she ever talked about with even a whiff of…anything even vaguely like that, was you."

Quinn perked up. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. I’m gonna go ahead and guess that whatever disgusting thing happened with him was bad enough to get swept under the rug…”

Quinn looked pleased.

“…because Wynston’s never once mentioned it in all that time we’ve spent talking.”

Quinn frowned. “All the time you’ve spent talking?”

“Yeah. Any time I’m in the area while you’re busy we get to talking. Like I said, there’s the mind control thing, common experiences like that. And he’s got some kind of running interview thing going, gathering data or something about tragedy and whether women come on to me.”

Quinn only twitched a little bit. "Even if I did swear I would not have the obscene vocabulary for, first, what I am thinking right now, and, second, what I will do to that alien when I get my hands on him."

"Could you maybe please not kill him?"

"What, were you also sharing confidences on the importance of me not harming him?"

Rylon's gaze darted around the room. "If I say no, will you not harm him?"

"No."

"Look, Dad, he just wanted to talk."

“I can talk!”

"Well, he can talk without spilling stuff about Mom’s sex life! That makes the conversations a lot less disturbing."

"Apart from the freak occurrence mentioned previously, there's nothing to say on the subject.”

Dysagape waved his stylus. “Er, can I just make sure we’re clear on this, General? You’re saying that with your wife, Ruth, there was no sex life to talk about?”

“No! I’m saying there’s nothing I’m going to share with Rylon!”

“Much appreciated, Dad.”

“I do my best, Rylon.”

“So," said Dysagape, "I’ll just add that to the already extensive list of things you appear to be unwilling to talk to your son about.”

“Uh, I’m the one who expressed unwillingness to talk about trying to murder Mom,” volunteered Rylon. “This goes both ways.”

“Yes, there’s quite a lot we both refuse to communicate about,” agreed Quinn.

“Which is why I talk to Wynston sometimes,” explained Rylon.

“Bloody–” said Quinn, and took a hissing breath. “Fine. I’ll talk. I am entirely willing to talk to you and help you sort through whatever it is you discuss with that alien.”

“Um. If you want. So, uh, let's talk about those times I tried to kill Mom?”

“Yes, let’s. It must have been a very dark and difficult time, and I am and always will be here for you, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you tried to stab my wife to death, you ungrateful idiot.”

“Hey, wasn’t this about me confiding in you about how much I must have suffered?”

Quinn looked over at Doctor Dysagape. “Are you supposed to be mediating or possibly doing something constructive or otherwise earning your pay?”

Rylon gave him a suddenly-bored look and stood. “You know, Dad, we could probably do this without the audience.”

“If that is an effort to lure me out of the combat-restricted zone, Rylon, I…I’ll be very proud of you.”

“Hey. Like I said earlier, Short’n’round couldn’t stop me if he tried. The only person who’s ever beaten me in real combat – not that polite first-blood stuff Mom always ordered me to stop at, but real combat – is, well, you. You cheated about a billion ways, but you’re the only one who ever knocked me out of a fight. So really, if I were gonna try to kill you, it being inside or outside is not the part I worry about.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So are we gonna go?”

“Yes. Let's.” Quinn nodded coolly at Dysagape, who seemed disappointed that the entertainment was about to leave. Father and son stepped out into the steady Dromund Kaas drizzle and started walking nowhere in particular.

“That was all very flattering,” Quinn said, “but I still can’t believe you talk to Wynston.”

“He’s all right, Dad.”

“Then you clearly haven’t talked enough to get to know him.”

“We see a fair amount of each other. It’s a way to learn a little about the Operation you two run, and also just get, I dunno, some perspective, about Mom and life and stuff. I…Force and thunder, what thought just put that look on your face?”

“It just occurred to me,” said Quinn, “that I am profoundly grateful I didn’t have a daughter.”